


Under the Skin

by sofia_gigante



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur forges as a woman, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Competence Kink, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Dreamhusbands, Eames' blonde female forge, Established Relationship, Forging (Inception), Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Post-Inception, Teaching, Vaginal Sex, a little romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I love you, and everything that goes with that. If there’s something you want, something I can do for you that you’re too afraid to ask for…”</i>
</p>
<p>When Arthur gets curious about something, he gets downright obsessed…especially if that something has to do with sex, dream-share, and Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> A million "thank yous" to Castillon02, for being such an **amazing** beta! Seriously, without her guidance this would still be a PWP without half the depth it has now.
> 
> This is just a bit of gender-bending smut that took on a life of its own. I made every effort to be respectful of gender politics and identities while still keeping it in the realm of kinky fun-times (essentially cross-dressing in dream-share). Constructive feedback is welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story!

“For a man who’s spent years on the move, you sure have a lot of stuff.” Arthur sighed as he cut open another cardboard box, eyeing the contents suspiciously. “Really? You’ve held onto a box of old cinema magazines for this long?”

“And your collection of antique wind-up cars is indispensable?” Eames snorted from his post at the built-in bookshelf. “If you think we’re displaying them in the living room, you’re crazy.”

As much as Eames gave Arthur grief, a little thrill went through him that this was even a topic of argument between them. After two years as professional acquaintances, three years as “friends-with-benefits,” and another as bona-fide partners, moving in together had been the next—and terrifyingly exhilarating—step. The Fischer job had provided them both with more than enough money to live comfortably for a very long time. What better investment than real-estate--and what better investment in the future than to do it together?

“Um, Eames? What are these?” Arthur asked.

Eames finished arranging his Jack Taylor mysteries on the shelf and joined Arthur at the box. He chuckled as he saw the worn magazines Arthur was holding—old issues of _Mayfair,_ _Playboy_ , and _Knave_ from the ’70s and ’80s.

“Those, love, were my first skin mags,” Eames said. “Rescued them from my neighbor’s rubbish bin when his wife made him throw his whole collection out.” He plucked one out of Arthur’s hand, flipping idly through the pages. There his earliest fantasies were, just as he remembered them--feathered hair, big, natural breasts, and curly mounds of hair hiding what he had been most curious about as a teenage boy. His cock gave a bit of a stir in his pants. “I spent a lot of time looking at these pictures.”

“And you’ve kept them this long?”

“Sure. They’re fucking vintage now.” Eames shrugged and fixed Arthur with a sly look. “You can’t tell me that you don’t have some old pieces of smut hiding in these boxes that you can’t bear to part with.”

“Of course I do. Just a bit surprised you kept so many is all.” Arthur flipped through the magazine idly, then gave a short laugh. “I’ll be damned.” He turned the open page towards Eames, unfolding a pin-up of a nude beauty with flowing blonde hair, presenting her curvy bottom with a saucy smile. “This is her, isn’t it? Your favorite forge?”

Eames felt a hint of heat on his cheeks, but he nodded. “That’s her, all right. She’s served me well on many a job.” He gave Arthur a wink. “I’ve had a lot of fun wearing that skin.”

Arthur looked up, suddenly curious. “What kind of fun?”

Eames rolled his eyes and gave Arthur a _look_. “What kind of fun do you think, darling?”

Arthur’s lips tightened nearly imperceptibly, and if Eames didn’t know him so well he might not have even noticed. He was a little surprised by the reaction. Arthur and he had had the “talk” years ago, and Eames’ unabashed bisexuality was usually not an issue.  There’d been a few questions, logical ones, but none of the accusations Eames had heard before: _So, you’re not really gay, then? Are you sure you’re not just confused?  So, I’m just your experiment? How can you be with me if you’ll always want something I can’t give you?_ Arthur’s complete acceptance of Eames was why they were here, unpacking boxes together.

Then why did the idea of Eames getting fucked in dream-share as a woman suddenly sit wrong with Arthur?

“Something the matter?” Eames asked, not a little defensive.

“No, just…just curious, is all,” Arthur said quietly. He seemed transfixed by another picture of Eames’ blonde, this time of her reclining on a red velvet chair, her golden hair tumbling down around her full, bare breasts. She was curvy—more so than you’d see in a skin mag today—the soft-focus epitome of the fantasy of a _woman_.

“Curious?” Eames asked carefully, a suspicion growing in his mind. Their earlier talks had revealed that Arthur considered himself mostly gay—a five on the Kinsey scale as opposed to Eames’ three, if you went by that sort of rubric—his early experiences with women leaving him sure of his identity by the time he left college. “Curious, how?”

“I…never mind.” He shut the magazine quickly and dropped it on the stack, then took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself.

“You all right, love?” Eames asked carefully.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Arthur smiled, but Eames could see that it didn’t touch his eyes. He stood quickly. “I’m hungry. Which delivery do you want to try first, the Thai place or the Greek?” Arthur headed for the kitchen, then called over his shoulder, “Don’t even think about putting those on the shelf. Not unless you want me displaying my wind-up cars on the mantle.”

Eames looked down at the magazine, wondering what had happened. Had Arthur been…actually turned on by her? He could see why it’d be a little confusing, maybe, but not enough to warrant such a strong, silent reaction. That was damn odd, and Eames wasn't quite sure what to do about it. Maybe...maybe it was just best to leave it alone for now. He shoved all the skin mags back in the box, wishing he could put his curiosity away just as easily.

****

“What’s it like?” Arthur blurted out a few mornings later, looking at Eames intently over his mug of coffee.

“What’s what like?” Eames barely looked up from the _New York Times_ , flicking his glance over Arthur briefly.

“Forging as a woman?”

Eames’ next look stuck, taking in the pink suddenly coloring Arthur’s cheeks—no, his whole face, all the way to the tips of his ears. It was adorable—and told Eames that this was a serious question, a locked door cracking open. His usual flippancy could slam it shut easily, so Eames would have to be careful.

“It’s…different,” Eames said, “but not as different as you may think.”

“Huh,” Arthur said. Eames could see by the furrow of his brow that that wasn’t the in-depth answer he was hoping for.

Eames closed his paper—he was probably one of the last people in the Western world under the age of 50 who still read an actual paper—and folded his hands over it.

“You’ve forged a few times before, yeah?” Eames waited for Arthur to nod before he continued. “So you know it’s all in focusing on the details, not too different than building a dream. Except with forging you’re dealing with flesh rather than concrete and steel. You find the little things to bring the person to life—the moles, the wrinkles, the angle of their fingers. There’s really not much difference between creating a man or a woman, though there are particular factors to consider--height, distribution of weight, center of gravity, anatomy, things like that.”

“But what if you’re not building off someone you’ve studied,” Arthur asked, “what if you’re just...creating someone?”

“Ah. You’re talking about creating a composite.” Eames smiled, and took a sip of his coffee. “Take my blonde beauty, for instance. I used that pin-up as the basis of the appearance, but there are changes I added in myself. You can’t get enough details from a two-dimensional image alone, so I had to give her depth--the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, the shape of her toes.”

“But...that’s just physical,” Arthur said slowly.  “The headspace. How do you know if you're _acting_ like a woman?”

Eames cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “How do you know when you’re acting like a man?”

Arthur gave Eames a look. “Because I _am_ a man.”

“Ah!” Eames grinned knowingly. “Yes, you were born with a penis--and quite a magnificent one at that, love--but that’s not what makes you a man. It’s what’s up here that matters.” He pointed to the side of his head. “How you walk. How you carry yourself. How you react to certain situations. You’ve been taught how to be a man since the day you were born, whether you realize it or not.”

Arthur sighed, the twitch in his fingers telling Eames he was on the verge of giving up this conversation. “OK, so how do you learn to _act_ like a woman?”

“Depends on the woman I need to be. If I need to be someone specific for a job, I do my research, just the same. But with a composite, the personality is up to me to make. Using my blonde again as an example--she’s a fantasy, and so I created her from pieces of fantasy. She’s your basic femme fatale, a little Lauren Bacall, a little Rebecca Romijn, a little Kim Basinger. I wouldn’t use her for playing a stereotypical rocket scientist, but when I need someone distracted or seduced, she’s my go-to skin. Does that make sense?”

“It...it does.” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed again, his eyes clouded, like when he first saw the model in the magazine. He opened his mouth to ask another question. Eames watched him expectantly, but no question came. Eventually, Arthur let his breath out in a frustrated huff, and left the table to go put his breakfast dishes in the sink.

Eames let him, not pressing any further, even as his curiosity grew. What was Arthur’s sudden fascination with Eames’ blonde persona?  Was Arthur asking these questions because he was feeling curious about being with a woman again? My, those magazines had gotten under his skin, if that was the case. Or was it the idea of being with Eames--his usually very masculine partner--in this feminine skin that he’d seen him don, but never actually touched? God, now that was an exciting thought. If that was the case, Eames would be more than happy to satisfy Arthur’s curiosity. It’d been a long time since Eames had had the opportunity to play the femme fatale...and to do it for _Arthur_ …

Arthur came back to the table long enough to press a quick kiss to Eames’ lips. He still tasted of coffee. “I’m going to my office, work on that article for _Design Observer_ for a bit before we go out.”

“Even when we’re retired you’re still working.” Eames sighed.

“Who said we’d retired? This is only a sabbatical.” Arthur grinned as he slipped away, looking unconcerned and focused again, as if their earlier conversation hadn’t even happened.

“If only your architecture blogs knew where you got your ideas from, eh?” Eames called after Arthur as he left, and opened his paper again.

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t even know if that was what Arthur was thinking. He would have to watch, wait, see if Arthur had more questions. If his suspicions were correct, though, this...this was fragile ground, and it was up to Arthur to make the next move. Eames would have to be patient.

***

Eames came home earlier than he had expected the next day to find their little house absolutely quiet. He poked his head into Arthur’s home office. It was empty, but his laptop was missing. Curious. Maybe he’d gone to work at a café or something.

Eames was heading for the kitchen, already thinking about how best to prepare the lamb shanks he’d gotten at the butcher’s, when he heard a soft noise coming from the second floor. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened. Yes, there it was again. A quiet moan—or rather, what should be a loud moan, heard quietly. Eames smiled to himself.

_Arthur, you cheeky little bastard._

He moved as quietly as he could to drop his groceries in the kitchen, and then crept up the stairs. He peeked through the crack in the bedroom door, fully expecting to find Arthur sitting on the bed, hard cock in one hand and laptop under the other.

Arthur was indeed sitting on the bed with his laptop, but he was still fully clothed, and his expression looked more confused than anything. Another high-pitched—very _female_ \--cry came from the laptop, and Arthur’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth parting in a surprised little moan. Liking what he saw, then. Eames couldn’t help it—he chuckled.

Arthur’s attention shot up to the doorway, his hands slamming the laptop shut. “Eames!” he cried out. He was suddenly scarlet from his scalp to down where his shirt buttoned at his collarbone. “I didn’t hear…I didn’t think…what are you doing home?”

Eames opened the door and held his hands up in apology. “My appointment was canceled last minute, so I came home early.” He looked at the closed laptop. “I can leave again, if you’d like to finish.”

Arthur groaned in humiliation as he scooped up his computer and scooted off the bed. He didn’t look at Eames as he tried to move past him, but Eames blocked his path. He placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s chest.

“I don’t care what you look at in your spare time, love,” Eames said quietly.

“That’s…nice,” Arthur muttered. “Now, can I please go?”

“In a second.” Eames leaned forward, and kissed Arthur’s burning cheek. “I love you, and everything that goes with that. If there’s something you want, something I can do for you that you’re too afraid to ask for…”

Arthur looked up, his pupils dilated in his coffee-dark irises. God, Eames loved his eyes. He loved everything about Arthur, and no new kink would ever change that. For one moment, it seemed like Arthur was actually going to confess. Instead he simply nodded, muttered a thanks, and slid past Eames and down the stairs.

Eames let him go, curiosity becoming concern. This...this was bigger than Eames thought, wasn’t it? Was this triggered by their move-in? Sometimes a step forward made one look back--or even sideways, if that was the case for Arthur. Whatever it was, he was going to keep hiding it, it seemed, and whenever Arthur tried to keep a real secret from Eames it never went well for either of them.

No. They were _not_ starting this new chapter on this foot. Waiting for Arthur wasn’t going to work. Eames was going to have to confront this head-on.

***

“Want to play tonight, darling?” Eames leaned in the doorway to Arthur’s office, giving him his most charmingly distracting smile.

“I’d love to, but I have a deadline,” Arthur said absently, barely looking up from his computer. As Eames had suspected, Arthur had been like this since Eames had caught him upstairs with his computer two days before: stand-offish, quiet, distracted. Arthur was pretending it was because of the article he was writing, but Eames knew better. It had to stop.

“I know. So I thought maybe we’d have a quick jaunt.” Eames pulled their small, personal PASIV from behind his back. “A few minutes with me, and I promise you’ll feel relaxed and focused enough to finish that article in half the time.”

Arthur looked up at the silver box in Eames’ hands, his eyes moving over the chrome surface almost as lovingly as they raked over Eames. Arthur’s two weaknesses—the man he loved and dream-share.

Eames knew how to get his way.

They set up in the living room—mostly so Arthur didn’t feel like he was totally abandoning his work—side-by-side on the leather sofa. Eames set up the machine and slid the needle carefully into Arthur’s wrist. As he pulled away, he saw Arthur watching him silently, a hint of hesitation behind his eyes. So, he suspected what Eames was up to, and he was still letting him. That was a good sign.

“Where do you want to go?” Arthur asked.

“Just the playroom, love. We’re on the clock.” Eames winked at Arthur as he set himself up. The playroom was their own private dream-space, where they went when they didn’t want to worry about holding a complex environment or their subconscious projections interfering with their fun.

Eames pressed the button, and after the familiar rush of sweet unconsciousness, opened his eyes to find himself in the playroom. It wasn’t painted red, or lined in leather, or decorated in any gauche dungeon trappings. The walls were a lovely grey-blue, the high windows letting in clean, bright sunlight onto the glossy hardwood floor. On occasion, the room had hosted various pieces of equipment—a St. Andrew’s cross, a rack, and once—on Eames’ birthday— a wrestling ring. Today, though, all there was was a chair, and once Eames thought about it, a tall three-way mirror.

“So. I think I know what’s on your mind,” Eames said quietly.

Arthur cocked his eyebrow, his cheeks colored, and he swallowed hard. “Is that so?”

“Questions about me forging as woman, your ‘research’…” Eames grinned as Arthur flushed anew. “You’re curious about something you’re too scared to ask for, aren’t you?”

Arthur looked away, eyes locking on the mirror. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Eames extended a hand. “Can I guess what it is?”

Arthur looked up briefly, his eyes luminous and dark and so full of want. He nodded and took Eames’ hand.

Eames led him over to the mirror. It was gilded, standing free, and Eames could see the open nervousness on Arthur’s face as he looked at their reflections. Eames motioned for him to sit in the chair—armless and upholstered in red velvet--and as he did, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. They were stiffer than usual, but softened after a little prodding. My, he was scared.

“If this becomes too strange, you say so.” Eames cupped Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur laughed nervously. “We’re not playing any games, are we?”

“We are, after a fashion. It can be…can be strange to see someone you love looking so different.”

Eames took a step back, and making sure he had Arthur’s full, clear-headed attention, turned towards the mirror. He rolled his head on his shoulders, willing himself to relax.

He watched his reflection as his face changed, its lines becoming leaner. His body shrunk in on itself in some places, spread out in others. He concentrated, remembering the dip of a narrow waist, the full swell of a hip. He slimmed his jaw, made his cheekbones higher and sharper. His mouth softened into a red pout,  and his eyes became wider, set slightly further apart. The hair he made full and golden, curling down over his round breasts. When he was finished, he had transformed into his blonde beauty—the model in the skin mag that had started this all.  

He considered forging himself already in the nude, or perhaps in a fun little negligee, but the hesitant look on Arthur’s face made him think twice. Best to do this in steps. So, he put her in a slinky, ruby red cocktail dress to offset her lipstick.  

“Is this what you wanted to see, love?” Eames changed his voice to match his appearance, something sweet and smoky. “This what you’ve been thinking about?”

He walked back to Arthur, movements slow and prowling. When he was close enough to Arthur to touch him, he simply stood, waiting for him to pounce, or at least extend a hand to touch. He did neither. Poor man needed a little more help.

The first notes of “La Vie En Rose” drifted through the room, and Arthur looked around to find the ancient phonograph Eames had just put on a small table in the corner. Arthur’s face creased in surprise, and Eames extended a hand to him.

“Will you dance with me, darling?”

That seemed to move Arthur, and he stood, offering Eames a shy smile. “I thought that was my line.”

“Don’t be so old-fashioned,” Eames teased. “Though I will let you lead, if you’d like.”

Arthur placed his right hand on the dip of Eames’ waist, and Eames rested his left on Arthur’s shoulder. As Arthur smoothly arranged them both into dancing position, Eames resisted the urge to simply press himself against Arthur, let him feel the full length of his new form. But by the way Arthur was holding him--with plenty of space between them--it was obvious Arthur wanted to keep things traditional. For now.

Arthur began to sway to the music, and Eames let himself be moved around the floor. He watched the way Arthur looked at him, as if he was studying him, trying to find Eames under his new face.

“That perfume,” Arthur finally murmured. “It’s Chanel, isn’t it?”

“Of course. I know how you like the classics. I wouldn’t be much of a lady if I smelled like English Leather, now would I?”

They continued to dance, and Eames felt Arthur relax into him, press closer by inches, until there was only the narrowest buffer of space between them. Eames slid his hand down Arthur’s back, inviting him to close the distance between them. Arthur finally did, and Eames smiled.

“There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Eames teased. He still couldn’t read Arthur’s expression, though, and Eames began to wonder. Had he read Arthur wrong? Was this not what he wanted?

The song faded away, and Arthur slowed them to a stop. They simply looked at each other for a long moment.

“Would you like to kiss me like this, darling?” Eames asked quietly.

Arthur looked at Eames, his hesitation balanced by tenderness. “I’ll kiss you no matter how you are.”

Eames’ heart did a little flip. This…this was why he loved Arthur so.

Arthur leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against Eames’ painted lips. It was definitely gentler, more cautious, almost chaste in its sweetness--which struck a deep, low chord in Eames. Heat flushed through him, and he parted his lips slightly, eager for more.

Arthur, though, pulled back slowly. His brow was furrowed, his lips downturned into a sad little frown, and Eames didn’t miss the lack of hardness pressing against his hip.

“Arthur, love, what is it?” Eames finally blurted out. He dropped out of his forge, slipping back into himself in the blink of an eye. “What’s going through that gorgeously complex little mind of yours?”

“I…” Arthur dropped his hands from Eames’ waist, stepping backwards. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, thinking. “I don’t know.”

“Bollocks,” Eames said. “You know what you want, and it isn’t me as a woman.”

Arthur looked at him, anguished. “I don’t know what I want. I know I’m not really turned on by the idea of being with a woman, even if she is you, Eames. But, I…I can’t stop thinking, what…what would it be like, if…if I…”

Suddenly, Eames _knew_.

“If you were forging as a woman?” Eames asked cautiously.

Arthur’s silence answered his question.

“That’s it, isn’t? You want to know what it’s like to be a woman?” Surprise rocked through Eames. This was somewhat unexpected from Arthur. He was so very _male_ , almost overcompensating for his youthful features with his hyper-masculine trappings—the suits, the guns, the scotch.

_Just like you, Eames, eh?_

“I know I don’t want to transition, be one in real life. I’m just…just curious…”

“You’re just curious what it feels like to get fucked like a woman in dream-share,” Eames said, a sly smile spreading over his face. Arthur shivered, and Eames could practically see his knees go weak. Bingo.

Arthur didn’t get “curious.” He got fixated. It was what made him such a bloody good point man—once he set his mind on a project he worked every angle until he had it precise and perfected. However, when his “curiosity” got stuck on a personal level, it could get downright obsessive. And fun, if Eames admitted it to himself. There was Arthur’s “curiosity” with French cooking, which had resulted in him now owning the thousands of dollars’ worth of books and pans and fine knives that were sitting in unopened boxes in the kitchen. There was Arthur’s “curiosity” with Francis Bacon, which had sent them all over Europe until they saw every painting on exhibition. Then there had been his “curiosity” with Japanese rope bondage. That had been Eames’ favorite.

A little doubt niggled in the back of Eames’ mind. “Love, does this have to do with me? You know I’m more than happy with what we have. I don’t need anything else.”

Arthur nodded. “It’s not. Really. It’s something that I’ve thought about on and off again for a long time, and seeing that magazine just brought it all back to the surface.” He let out a hard sigh. “It’s hard to explain. I know I’m gay. No question. But this…this craving…goes back years.” He fixed Eames with a look that made him quiver. “Goes back to the first time I saw you do it.”

Eames’ heart beat a little faster. “Really?”

“I don’t know why. But watching you become something so completely different--something beautiful in such a different way--and enjoying it so much…it just...just made me want to try it. Then you go and tell me you can take it a level deeper--hold the forge long enough to actually get off on it...” Arthur swallowed hard. “I’m damn fucking curious now.”

This little secret of Arthur’s was even more exciting than what Eames had imagined it to be. He’d been on the receiving end of this game a few times, but to be on the giving end—the teaching end—oh, that was too delicious a prospect. He chewed his bottom lip and cocked his head towards the mirror.

“Want me to show you how I do it?” Eames asked.

Arthur hesitated only a second before nodding slowly. He took Eames’ hand and let him lead him back over to the mirror. This time, Eames was the one who sat in the chair, and he stood Arthur in front of him, facing him. He began unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur crooked an eyebrow.“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I think this’ll be easier to do if you can see your own body.”

“You just want to get me naked.”

“Nice bonus.”

Arthur helped him undress him, down to his black briefs. Eames pressed a kiss to Arthur’s navel, loving the way the thin, little black hairs tickled his lips. Arthur sighed, and Eames felt his cock twitch under his chin. A much better start, this was.

This wasn’t the first time they’d played with forging in dream-share before, and Arthur was truly good at it when he could relax enough to let his imagination take over. He did better when he had a model to work off of--Eames was particularly fond of Arthur’s rendition of a young Marlon Brando, but even that hadn’t been too much of a stretch in the body department. This was going to be the biggest challenge for Arthur yet, mostly because he believed it to be so. If Eames could just get him to relax, get creative, he’d be just fine.

He turned Arthur around to face the mirror, holding his hands on Arthur’s hips as much to connect to him as to enjoy the feel of him under his hands.

“All right. You remember how to do this. First, you let go of yourself. Forget the boundaries of your body. It’s all in your mind in here. Feel the edges of yourself—then push against them. Expand. Your projection of yourself is only a vessel, and vessels can be changed.”

Arthur was breathing deeply, rhythmically. Eames watched his face in the mirror, the concentration.

“Relax. Remember that this is feeling, more than seeing. Think of the person you want to become—is she tall or short? Slim or curvy? Dark or pale? Start with the basic shape, and we’ll build from there.”

Eames felt Arthur’s hip shift under his hand, swelling out slowly, his waist tightening in a bit. The height remained about the same, shrinking only slightly.

“Good,” Eames encouraged. “Now, working with the details--do you want to forge a copy of someone, or do you want to try for the composite, like my blonde? The copy’s easier, for sure--”

“Composite,” Arthur said resolutely. “I’m going to do this right.”

Eames pressed a kiss to the new curve of Arthur’s hip to hide his knowing smile. Of course Arthur wanted to take the more challenging path. He didn’t do anything half-assed, did he?

“Right. Let’s start with the face, then. It’s easier if you do model it a bit on someone’s face you’ve seen a lot, even just the basic shape.”

Arthur nodded, then focused on the mirror again. Eames watched, breath held, as Arthur’s lean features slowly transformed, spreading out in places, shrinking in others, softening everywhere.

“Think of the slope of the cheekbones,” Eames coached. “The tilt of the eye, the arch of the eyebrow.”

“So many details,” Arthur sighed, dismayed.

“Don’t get discouraged. It’s like a building, and I’ve seen you put in so many details into a single level that you can’t even tell it’s a dream. It’s the same principle, remember? The little things that make a person real.”

The face continued to morph, becoming heart-shaped and lovely. The eyes were slightly almond-shaped, the lips pink and pouty. Arthur’s hair grew out rapidly, flowing over his newly slim shoulders like a dark curtain, and his skin took on an olive tone.

“Lovely work,” Eames murmured. He thought he recognized parts of her, a bit of a Bollywood queen here, a touch of a favorite singer there—but underneath it all it was undoubtedly Arthur. His forge was almost the opposite of Eames’ femme fatale--dark where she was pale, sweet where she was sultry--yet every bit as appealing. Perhaps even more so, knowing who it was under the skin.

Eames noticed that his own hand was stroking absently over Arthur’s hip, running up and down to savor the strange new swell below his love’s normally straight waist. He loved women’s bodies. He loved their curves, their softness. He loved the heft of a full breast in his palm, and the warm slickness of their arousal hiding under soft, furred skin.  He loved teasing that heat out onto his tongue before burying himself in that molten core. He loved it just as much as he loved sucking cock, as much as he loved feeling spread open and pinned against another man’s hard body. He loved sex any way he could have it, and now, perhaps, with Arthur, he could share it all with him.

“Wow,” Arthur said softly. He brought his hand up—much slimmer, nails longer and lacquered red—and touched his made-up face. “It worked.” He brushed his fingers along his rouged cheeks, his painted lips, his penciled eyebrows.

“Almost,” Eames said softly. “You have the face and the basic shape down, but you’ve forgotten some details.”

Arthur looked down. Despite his wider hips and narrower frame, his chest remained flat, practically concave.

“It’s fine if you want it like that,” Eames said slowly. His hands drifted up Arthur’s sides until they came up under his armpits. “If it makes you happy.”

“No, I…I want…” Arthur flushed, and the color on his sloped cheeks made Eames’ pulse speed a little faster. “I don’t know how.”

“Weight. Breasts are weight on your chest. Not a lot, depending on how big they are.  You’ve seen enough to know what they look like, so what you need to create is the feeling of fullness, sensitivity.”

Eames’ breath hitched as he watched Arthur’s chest rise. He didn’t touch, simply offered silent support, a guideline for Arthur’s imagination. It took Arthur some effort, he could tell by the furrow of his brow, the way his chest contorted. First try, the breasts were almost cartoonishly round and high, and Arthur groaned in frustration.

“Try again.” Eames said gently. “Remember, it’s about feeling as well as looking. Don’t get mathematical with them. I can practically see you calculating the curvature in your head. Try imagining rather than constructing.”

Arthur sighed, then took a deep breath. He closed his eyes this time, and his features smoothed, as if he were dreaming. Bingo.  It took a few minutes, but then there, in the mirror, were two absolutely gorgeous breasts on Arthur’s chest. They were full and round, with mocha-pink nipples jutting out from the center. Eames was quietly pleased that Arthur had opted for the natural approach rather than stiff, silicone globes. He had always preferred the feel of them better.

Arthur’s hands came up, hovering just above them. His breathing was labored, his eyes glistening with wonder.

“Go on, love,” Eames encouraged. “Feel your work.”

Arthur touched himself gently, as if afraid they’d fall off if he was too rough with them. He traced his fingers over them, hefted them, and even dared to pinch the nipples once or twice, making himself gasp. The sight was enough to make Eames’ trousers uncomfortably tight.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Eames sighed. “You forge better than you give yourself credit for.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Eames, the expression on his feminine face somewhere between pleased and shy. “Do you want to feel them?”

Eames’ cock gave a lurch, need thrumming hot from the center of his being. “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

Arthur turned around to face Eames. He cupped Eames’ cheek with one hand—his fingers slimmer and smaller than Eames was used to—and with the other slid Eames’ hand up his torso to cup the right breast. Eames felt a jolt go through him as his palm slid over velvety skin, feeling the weight, the way it filled his big palm so perfectly. Arthur’s nipple puckered as soon as Eames’ fingers brushed it, and he couldn’t help pinching it, making Arthur moan softly.

“Nerves seem to be working nicely,” Eames said silkily. He pinched the little nipple again, and again, making Arthur twitch and moan. Eames brought his other hand up to mirror the caresses on Arthur’s  other breast, making Arthur bite his lower lip and whimper softly. Arthur’s hands rested lightly on the back of Eames’, not quite guiding, as if simply absorbing Eames’ pleasure at touching Arthur’s new flesh. 

Eames turned Arthur back around to face the mirror and pulled him down to straddle his lap. Arthur let Eames position him, deliciously pliant and eager. Arthur got like that sometimes--mostly when he was in a deeply submissive mood, or just tired and horny--but this had a different feel to it. Arthur was wide awake, practically crackling with energy, and though he was letting Eames direct him, Arthur was decidedly in control of the scenario--guiding it with his imagination, his abilities. This was about Arthur, what he was creating, and he was sharing it with Eames just as much as Eames was teaching him how to do it. It was unbearably arousing.

“Just look at yourself,” Eames crooned, “look how fucking gorgeous you are.” He fondled and squeezed Arthur’s breasts, kissed the soft arch of his throat. Arthur’s moans became louder, and Eames could see in the mirror how Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off his feminine self, flushed and panting and arching into Eames’ touch. He had a good start on the physical aspects of the composite. Now to work on the deeper levels.

“Do you know who you are, love?” Eames asked. He reached a hand up to stroke Arthur’s  temple, feeling the velvety touch of powdered make-up under his fingers. “You don’t have to tell me, what matters is that you know. Just picture her in your head, create a basic character for her. Doesn’t have to be original at all.  Is she a good girl gone bad? Or a woman who knows how to get what she wants? A little of both? What dirty little fantasy have you been rolling around in this mind of yours?” Eames ran his hand through Arthur’s hair, marveling at the novelty of feeling the long tresses flowing through his fingers. “Think of how she’d move, how she’d moan. Is she a screamer, or does she bite her knuckles the way you do?”

“I...she...” Arthur whispered, struggling to find the words. “It’s not...not a...”

It took Eames a moment to realize what Arthur was trying to say, and once he did, he bit back a little laugh. Of course. Arthur worked in structure, not facade. It wasn’t a role-play he was after...

“It’s all right. Sometimes, the easiest role to play is your own.” Eames nipped at Arthur’s earlobe, making him give a little gasp. “All these questions, all this creation...just to realize that it’s really still just you under the surface--that deep, secret part of yourself that will never truly change. That, darling, is the secret to holding this shape throughout the game--knowing that it’s just you in another skin, another story. It becomes natural, and when it’s natural...” Eames’ hands drifted back to Arthur’s breasts, and his fingers closed tightly on his nipples, hard enough to make Arthur cry out and  squirm gorgeously in his lap, “...it becomes real to your mind.”

Eames continued to pinch and massage Arthur’s breasts, and he wondered if Arthur could actually come like this, so worked up by their head-games and the novelty of his new body. But Arthur swallowed hard and met Eames’ eye.

“What about…” Arthur’s eyes darted down to his black briefs. Even through the dark fabric, Eames could see the outline of Arthur’s hard cock. Eames resisted the urge to wrap his fingers around it, stroke it through the thin cotton. He didn’t want to distract Arthur, not before he had yet to really delve into the core of the forge.

He gave Arthur a slow smile. “You up for it, love? It’s trickier than you think, but so very worth it.”

 Arthur nodded, panting. “I want it.”

“All right.” Eames licked his lips. “Put your hand down your panties.”

“They’re not--”

“If you’re a girl, they are,” Eames purred. “Come on. Slide that pretty little hand down into your panties.”

Arthur did, and the look on his face betrayed his confusion. Eames reached around and stroked his breasts, keeping him focused on the new changes.

“Don’t think of the hardness in your hand. Focus on the heat, the throbbing. Make it something soft, something hot, yielding. You know what that feels like, now magnify it, put it together with the visual you have. The velvet skin, the moistness. It’s downright wet when you’re this excited, slick and open and wanting. Everything’s so damn soft, except for this one hard little nub, where all the sensation is focused, throbbing, aching, just like the head of your cock, just concentrated…”

Arthur gave a little cry of surprise, his eyes widening in the mirror. Eames gave a slow, wolfish smile over his shoulder.

“Did you do it, love? You make yourself a pussy?”

 Arthur practically sobbed, nodded his head. He bit the knuckle of his other hand, his body stiffening against Eames. Eames’ cock was so hard it hurt, but he didn’t dare move, break the spell he was weaving around Arthur.

“Go on, darling. Touch it. Feel how wet it is, how soft it is. Stroke the little clit, that’s it.” He sighed as Arthur’s hips began to buck against his lap. “Oh, you are a lovely thing, my Arthur.”

“I want you to--to touch it,” Arthur stuttered.

“Your wish is my command, pet.” Eames reached down to Arthur’s wrist and pulled his hand out of his briefs. They came away glistening, dripping. He smiled, and pulled them up to his mouth. He sucked them, watching Arthur’s face split into another needy moan in the mirror. The juices tasted the same as his pre-cum, slightly salty, musky. Not as sweet as it should be, but Eames wasn’t about to correct Arthur now, especially when it was so fucking intoxicating to taste Arthur’s secret flavor like this.

As he sucked on Arthur’s slim fingers, Eames slid his hand down the waistband of Arthur’s briefs. His fingers skated over the familiar thatch of wiry hair, but instead of encountering the thick, long shaft he was so accustomed to, he found himself trailing lower, lower, until his fingertips found the slick slit. A hot jolt of longing went through Eames, fierce and primal, and he almost growled against Arthur’s neck as he slid his fingers down the cleft.

It was a marvelous job, sleek and soft and hot under Eames’ hand. He traced along the outer folds, then dipped down to feel the smaller ones flanking the opening. The hole practically tried to suck Eames’ fingers inside, a hungry little mouth, but Eames held back. There was one other place—there. He ran his fingertip over the bud of the clit, stroking it lightly.

Arthur was going wild, crying and bucking back against Eames. He moved just as he did near the end of a long bout of cock-sucking, when Eames had him dancing right on the razor’s edge of madness. He clawed at Eames with one hand while feeling the rest of himself with the other—his face, his belly, his thighs, his breasts. It was as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was feeling, and his expression in the mirror was a gorgeous mixture of arousal and wonder.

Eames’ lust was wrapped up in his own quiet awe. It was more than just Arthur’s wanton display--it was the knowledge that Arthur’s mind was fully accepting this form as his own. It could be hard to hold the first few times--to not get distracted by the difference between what the eye saw and the nerves felt--but his pleasure in his new features was anchoring the forge. It was damn fucking impressive, and reminded Eames again of just why Arthur was a legend in the dream-share network. Not that anyone else would see him like this. No. This beautiful show was for Eames alone, a secret that Arthur had entrusted only to him. The thought made Eanes’ chest tighten, even as Arthur’s hand came to rest over Eames’ stroking fingers through the damp, black cotton _._

“You want to come like this, darling?” Eames purred. “Want to come with my hand down your panties, feeling your wet little pussy?”

It wasn’t a matter of want anymore. Arthur’s hips rocked forward against Eames’ fingers, bucking furiously as his moans increased in pitch. Eames sped up his circular strokes around the clit, and Arthur screamed, thighs quivering as he went rigid. Fluid bathed Eames’ fingers, sticky and warm, and he smiled against Arthur’s neck, drinking in his first orgasm in his new skin.

Eventually, Arthur stilled and slumped in Eames’ lap. Eames pulled his hand out of the briefs, wiping his wet fingers on his own pants before stroking Arthur’s hair out of his face. Arthur turned his head enough to kiss Eames, and though his lips were shaped differently, Arthur still kissed exactly the same.

When he pulled away, Eames could feel a slight film of lipstick on his own lips, smell the fragrance of it right under his nose. God, when Arthur got the details right, he got them _right_. Arthur grinned, almost shyly, and brushed the color away with his fingertips.

“Now, that was a fucking beautiful sight,” Eames sighed. He idly stroked Arthur’s hip. “You good for now, or you want more?”

Arthur squirmed in Eames’ lap, rubbing his ass against Eames’ rock-hard erection. “More.”

Eames smiled. “I am so very glad to hear you say that.”

Arthur stood up and looked down at Eames with a shy smile. “I want to see it.”

Eames’ vision practically blurred with want as he slid his fingers in the waistband of Arthur’s briefs. He tugged them down, slowly, his gaze darting between the inches of flesh unveiled and the look of nervous excitement on Arthur’s face. As the damp, dark fabric skimmed down Arthur’s smooth thighs he gasped. No cock waited for them, just a mound, lightly covered with curly black hair. It seemed a bit anti-climactic after the storm of sensation, and Eames almost laughed at the bewilderment on Arthur’s feminine face.

“It looks like I’m missing something,” Arthur said. He touched his pubis with light fingers.

“Nothing missing, love. Everything’s just tucked away inside.” Eames trailed a finger along the outside of the slit, grinning as Arthur practically swooned at the caress against the sensitive skin. “See, there you go.”

“God, do that again,” Arthur moaned.

Eames did, and again, and again, until it was all Arthur could do to stay upright. His hips were bucking forward again for more, and Eames took pity on Arthur. He stood up out of the chair and pulled Arthur into his arms. He kissed his painted lips, hard and long and sweet, and then he guided Arthur to sit in the chair.

“What are we…oh!” Arthur’s words ended in a hungry moan as Eames knelt down in front of Arthur with an roguish smile. Arthur’s breath became quicker, legs already spreading in anticipation. Eames took his time, pulling Arthur’s hips down so he could scoot him closer to the edge of the seat. Eames moved a bit sideways, so Arthur could take a look at his creation in the mirror.

“Your work is flawless as ever, love.” Eames said. He saw the rapture on Arthur’s face, the wonder, as he studied the deep pink folds hidden among the curls of hair. Eames reached in and swirled a finger around the core, smearing the thick fluids around the entrance and making Arthur moan shamelessly.

Then, content that Arthur had seen his fill, Eames leaned in and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s pussy.

The effect was immediate—Arthur squealed—fucking _squealed_ —and his hips darted forward. His legs spread farther, his body trembled, every nerve crying out for more. Eames didn’t keep him waiting. He lapped along the satiny folds, lightly at first, then with more purpose. He teased the entrance, dipping the very tip of his tongue in and wiggling it, before swiping it back up to bat at the straining clit.

Arthur was practically ripping Eames’ hair out by the roots, bare feet scrabbling against the floor. Eames licked and sucked with gusto, drunk on tasting Arthur’s secret flavor on this new skin-scape. God, he loved doing this, making Arthur cry and moan and beg.

He placed a finger against the entrance to Arthur’s hole. “You ready, love? Remember, this feels different than what you’re used to. Tight, but not as—”

“I know what to do!” Arthur cried out. “Just…just put it in me!”

Eames slid his finger in slowly as Arthur wailed. He gently moved the digit in and out, letting Arthur get used to the feeling of something inside his new anatomy. The slick channel clung to Eames’ finger, sucking him in invitingly, and Eames’ neglected cock was so hard it felt like it could simply burst in his trousers.

“God, love, I want to fuck you so badly,” Eames panted. “Want to bury my cock in this soft little hole of yours.”

Arthur shuddered, moaned hard, and Eames felt the passage tighten further around his finger.

“Do it. God, please, do it…I…want to feel you inside me, Eames. Want you to fuck me!”

Eames was already unbuckling his belt by Arthur’s first plea, and by the time Arthur had outright asked, Eames had his cock in hand. He sat up, simply _knowing_ that the chair would be the right height, and moved forward until his hips were lined up with Arthur’s. He wondered, briefly, if this was truly going to work, but Arthur was so turned on, so completely embodied in his new skin that Eames was pretty damn sure he’d be able to hold the forge through this as well. Only one way to find out, and Eames was practically delirious to do so.

The first nudge of his bare cock against Arthur’s wet pussy almost made Eames come, so he took a deep breath to steady himself.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he warned, “you’ve got me so fucking worked up with this pretty little body of yours, this gorgeously dirty show.”

“Don’t care.” Arthur pulled at Eames’ hips. “Just need you, need to feel yo—”

Arthur’s words died in a keening moan as Eames pressed forward. Eames tried to be slow, he truly did, but he was so fucking needy, and Arthur’s body was so slick so wet so hot so goddamn perfect—like it was made only to swallow Eames’ cock in one go. It had been, in fact.

“Oh God, you’re so good!” Eames groaned. “You feel fucking perfect.”

“God, move, just, just move!” Arthur’s face was screwed up in rapture as he pumped his hips off the chair, desperate for more.

Eames did as he was ordered, trying to set an easy pace, but Arthur’s wet flesh begged differently. Eames couldn’t help it as his strokes became faster, pushed himself in as deep as he could go. Arthur grabbed Eames’ hair at the nape of his neck and navigated Eames’ head so that his mouth was right over his breast. Eames sucked the hard little nipple into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue.

God, this was too unreal--a dream Eames hadn’t even known he could have come true. He’d given up this sort of sex willingly, without hesitation, when he’d committed to Arthur, and now to actually be having it _with_ him--it was beyond incredible.

He pulled his mouth away from Arthur’s breasts so he could see his face, that gorgeously constructed forge that still moved and moaned in the same ways Arthur always did when this aroused. He watched Arthur’s gaze shift rapidly, darting from Eames’ face to the juncture where their bodies coupled, then to the mirror behind Eames’ shoulder to watch himself getting fucked. It was too much, too good, and Eames was rapidly losing control.

He grabbed Arthur’s hips, digging his fingers into the soft curve of his ass as he pumped into Arthur’s pussy. Arthur’s legs came up, not quite wrapping around Eames’ waist, just hovering, and Eames could tell by the changed pitch of his moans that Arthur had found the sweet spot. His entire body coiled under Eames, his fingers digging hard into Eames’ forearms, and he rocked frantically on the chair. 

“Come for me, love,” Eames breathed. He was barely able to pant out the words, he was so dizzy with need. “Want to watch you let go like this, spreading yourself open for me...”

That did it. All it took was one, two, three more thrusts before Arthur was wailing in glorious release, his entire body going stiff except for the slick channel constricting around Eames’ cock. It was the permission Eames needed to let himself go. His own orgasm shot through him like lightning, sizzling through his nerves. His entire being focused on Arthur--the rapture on his lovely face, the jut of his breasts as he arched his back, the slick heaven milking Eames’ pleasure from him in hot, shuddering spasms--the familiar and the strange twining together in this single, exquisite moment.

It ended in slow, thrumming waves, their bodies relaxing by increments. Eames held himself inside Arthur for a few moments more, letting Arthur feel this post-coital languor while still being filled. Arthur clung to Eames, murmuring softly, too lost in sensation and emotion to vocalize properly. Eventually, Arthur shifted, and Eames slid out, and he looked up at Arthur with a smile just as Arthur reverted back into his own form. His boyish face was sweaty and elated.

“That what you were after, love?” Eames asked, palming Arthur’s face tenderly.

Arthur nodded. “That was exactly what I wanted.”

Eames grinned, and gathered Arthur in his arms into a proper embrace. Every day their trust deepened enough to share something like this, Eames fell in love with Arthur a little more.

“Was that good enough for you?” Arthur asked shyly.

Eames’ eyebrows rocketed up. “Good enough? Love, that was some of the best sex I have ever had in my life!”

Arthur laughed, though Eames didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. Eames knew just what to do. He looked down at Arthur’s softening cock and ran a finger along its length. “Still not done with you yet, though.”

Arthur looked surprised. “Even after all that, you want more?”

“It’s why I love fucking in dream-share,” Eames said with a grin. “Fraction of the recharge time. Now,” he settled himself again between Arthur’s thighs. “We’ll do a little compare and contrast, shall we?”

Arthur grinned, sharp and strong and so very male, and Eames’ heart warmed anew. “Whatever you want, I’m yours.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Eames lowered his head into Arthur’s lap and got to work again.


End file.
